


veni, vidi, vici

by inertial



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Obsession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 19:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13642863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inertial/pseuds/inertial
Summary: I dreamt of conquering him.





	veni, vidi, vici

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Contains potentially triggering themes. Reader discretion is advised.

**[veni, vidi, vici](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dvgZkm1xWPE) **

_Daehyun/Youngjae, Daehyun POV_

 

Once upon a time, between the cuticles of my fingernails and his petite feet above my head, there stood a king on the top of the playground. With his head raised and the sunlight of victory against the mirrors of his irises, he dreamt of grand landscapes and gold ingots in the space of his fallen front teeth. With the quilt of fancy reveries and a desire for all tied around his neck, I watched as he leapt from the top and landed magnificently onto the see-saw. There, he built fortresses of sand and commanded the children around as his cape flapped in the mighty wind.

Enamoured from the start I was by the king Yoo Youngjae, who descended majestically down the stairs scrawled with tic-tac-toes and held a haughty air of superiority. His blanket would sweep dirt as he trailed through foreign fields between the sandbox and the swings, and he spoke only orders from his pretty lips. He strode in a breathtaking way, slow footsteps as if to carve his presence into the rubber floor of scraped knees and petulant wails, and his beauty had no contender. He ruled the playground three blocks away from where I, a pathetic commoner, resided, within the arms of my parents who were mere dust clots in King Yoo Youngjae's monumental imagination.

He walked the lands through the dark tunnels the children feared and fought the canines that dared near his colony. His grandeur encompassed volumes and volumes of supremacy and with short tongues I heard him call the name of three nameless. Whatever he saw, he sought and conquered. From the rocking horse and its rusty spring to spinning merry-go-rounds (blur of colours pale in comparison to the canvas he was), King Yoo Youngjae marked every coast as his. His kingdom rose within the perimetre of the sandbox and his subjects buoyed up his throne sans swing with leftover dolls and action figures, those he claimed he slayed with just a bat of the eye.

Whenever evening came, King Yoo Youngjae's dream shattered with the reprimands of adults, those that shook heinously the sand off the cape over his shoulders. He would be hauled away and be forced to relinquish his lavish state to the darkness, and his empire would crumble as his followers dispersed. Though his eyes spelled reluctance, he never let his tears fall and he would bid today and his reign farewell. For King Yoo Youngjae only looked forward to tomorrow's war, he continued to build sandcastles in the air and map out territories to claim from nightfall the next morning. He would chase away dusk and frighten off the relentless shadows, and the playground would become his once again.

I would stand at the edge of Yoo Youngjae's four by four country, crouch in the rotten, rural area he could not be bothered less by. While his terrain flourished his smile would gleam in all its precious glory, and I would stay by the poorly drawn hop scotch on my own. I dared not approach such an eminent being who only shone and glistened like the pennies in my pockets.

I knew my place so I stood by the monkey bars like the fool I was, nipping the peeling paint and watching the gorgeous king spring from one province to another with his leaden toy soldiers. I gazed as he rolled the dice and he resonated victory chants. I saw his lashes, long and mesmerising they were, bat against his cheeks, and his large eyes were cups of wonder I could only hope to glimpse into.

It was one day that I climbed the monkey bars and held on, that King Yoo Youngjae turned his head and glimpsed at me. I felt my breath hitch and my heart stop and the six year old me held tight onto the metal that scorched my skin. The sun complemented all his splendour that he bled and I gulped as he kept his beautiful, beautiful eyes on me. He tilted his head one side, oh, captivating blush, the tip of his button nose, and he beckoned me over.

My little hands clenched at the thought of further exile, that perhaps I was not fit to even stand by the horizontal ladder, away from King Yoo Youngjae's palace. I came to learn I was taller than King Yoo Youngjae, oh, priceless lips, the curl of his eyelashes, and I knelt before his royal highness. That seemed to please him and he allowed me to rise, though I kept my distance and hung my head low.

King Yoo Youngjae, oh, dear love, the apple of my eye, recruited me into his army. I joined the world war in which a boy with his bedspread tied around his shoulders stood on the top of the slide, and we were his soldiers. He sent his ships in fleets and I marched around his intimidating stature, the prettiest thing I would ever see in years and years to come. Alongside four other boys I stomped and roared away those who dare hurt my beloved, and those who challenged my king I trampled and chased off.

King Yoo Youngjae spoke missiles and breathed fire. His scrunched up lips crushed determination into the inferior and he proudly wore his sloppily painted paper crown. I was rewarded for my noble services, dubbed as a knight sworn to protect the king for all eternities to come. With a stick King Yoo Youngjae found by the lamppost he tapped both my skinny shoulders and I rose to become his general, decreed the power to control his tanks, bestowed the lovely gaze of topaz eyes I cherished with every inch of my heart. I became his sword and shield.

As King Yoo Youngjae held the moonlight in his pupils, I slept no more. He would worry no more about the gales that blew down his empires, a daydream that lasted too fleetingly for his mother came much too early and tore us apart. I gave him the crust in the corner of my eyes to build his sandcastles in the air, for when we were together, King Yoo Youngjae was undefeatable. As I gave him the sand clumping my lashes, he perpetually kept me awake at night since my dreams became his sanctuary. For me, my dreams transformed into my personal planetarium. 

I carressed the bruises that befell his short legs after our brutal combat with the enemy, and kissed his hand more so than the other knights, those who came to be nameless to King Yoo Youngjae—for only I was worthy of his attention. I followed his every whim and kept his dream afloat by fending off the bigger, older kids, till six in the evening, where his parents would come and pick him up. Some denounced King Yoo Youngjae as a tyrant who led an oppression, labeled him 'mean' and 'selfish', and they were not wrong. King Yoo Youngjae was merciless and held no qualms about executing those that got in his way. It was this that made the seas shudder in his presence, that made the waves retreat so far back the shoreline was all for him.

I guarded the realms in which King Yoo Youngjae lived, and he honoured me with alluring, toothy grins and boyish hugs. As King Yoo Youngjae's right-hand man, his advisor, possible his other half, I was invited to his quarters to discuss military action. In his room (a house in which he dreamt of overpowering but never could), we thumbed through blueprints of King Yoo Youngjae's drawings and conjured up victory speeches. His bedspread was the battlefield and we fought with toy swords and action figures, planted bombs in the soil of his pillows and climbed the moutain that was his bolster. After a long day, King Yoo Youngjae would sometimes fall asleep at the edge of his bed post. I would tuck him into bed and kiss him twice—once on the hand, and once on the lips. 

I followed him throughout the years as his most loyal missionary, the only troop who lasted and kept his oath to defend the king. King Yoo Youngjae became just Youngjae in my speeches, but never in my head. He shimmered and refracted the most blinding light comparable to that of the ocean's surface, and his beauty only seemed to triple with every breath he took.

Nothing could trounce his excellency's grit, his resolve and his stubbornness. He wanted everything, and he fought deliriously for it. Whether it was simple triumphs like having the last word in an argument or hefty accomplishments such as earning a gold medal in the academic olympiads, he craved for every single thing. His arrogance brimmed strikingly and he continued to hold his head up high, high as the clouds.

I tailed him always and tended to his every whim, even without a single request. I held his books for him and shielded him from the rain; I did his homework for him when he did not have the time and copied down notes for him. I noted all his classes and wove connections for him to ascend. All so I could see my king succeed and conquer, for I grew to become a part of him, a small part of his greatness.

This confounded and bewildered many. They asked me why I sought not to conquer, and instead aided King Yoo Youngjae when I was more than capable of reigning on my own. I had no reason to deviate when I claimed happiness from seeing my king prosper. Amid the patter of drums and the red carpet I laid out for King Yoo Youngjae, he overthrew top scorers and seized leadership positions of every kind. He delegated some of his work to me and I faithfully heeded his orders to see the kingdom thrive. I was in turn bequeathed his loving gazes and thankful grins, soft hair against my shoulder and my hand allowed around his diamond hips. A treasure he was to this sovereign state, oh, he certainly was.

Years after, my emperor sought a bride to rule with him. A queen of sorts, some concubines on the side, to share the riches and gemstones that he was. He came to only ever be interested in finding a queen consort. His majesty only had eyes for a princess, and he searched far and wide for one. I would march behind loyally as he spoke with women who, in all honesty, could not begin to match my king's enrapturing beauty. His lashes were the smooth leaves of spring and his lips were the apples in summer; his skin was the endless snow in winter and his voice the lustrous wind of autumn.

Perhaps, while my protests fell on deaf ears, a nasty, malignant jealousy brewed. I held no power in the face of the great emperor. Of course, I could not go against my king's wishes, despite disapproving of his conquest. King Yoo Youngjae, oh, my love, the boy of my dreams, saw not I, who did not want to serve a faceless woman by his side.

It was around this time that I reached an epiphany. I vowed to protect the one who wore the glitter crown taped haphazardly, the boy who stood at the top of the playground, not another who my king mistakenly deemed fit to stand by his side. 

They asked me why I sought not to conquer, and instead aided King Yoo Youngjae when I was more than capable of reigning on my own. 

This was because I only ever wanted to conquer Yoo Youngjae.

Yoo Youngjae was a monarch, of a palace that was himself. His body were the ripples of tidal waves along the shoreline, his curves the outskirts of a splendid colony. His skyline was long imprinted into my memory, limbs illustrious skyscrapers and broad shoulders modest hill tops. His eyes were chandeliers of scintillating ballrooms, my very own suns and the stars of countless stratospheres, and his birthmarks were a blooming metropolis. I could only hear the bristle of cherry blossoms from his lips and his inhales were the shivers of daffodils alongside the treacherous cliffs.

I never figured out the geography of things—that Yoo Youngjae had always been the terrain I dreamt of. He was a sovereign state in which I loved and yearned for, and so, never questioned my role in his country. I took bullets to protect the riveting land he was and nurtured the blissful scenery which I adored. I craved every nook and cranny of Yoo Youngjae, and I came to realise I wanted him. I desired to mark him as mine, carve my name into his skin and plant flags into the spaces between his fingers.

I wanted him, more so than anyone else. No one understood that I would sacrifice all I had to make it so. I wanted to claim his entire being as mine, and mine only.

And thus, I was forced to turn on my ruler, oh, dear love, forever the apple of my eye. I had to declare war to fight for what was not mine yet. A grievous farewell, an excruciating separation, and the thrashing rivers of his eyes begged me to return. I resisted the tempation and the heartbreak of plunging the kingdom I devoted my life to into sorrow. I wanted more, and the simple stoplights of Youngjae's flickering irises were not enough to keep me contented if they kept flashing red.

A cold war began. The beats of our pulses coincided with the battle cries and it pained to see Youngjae bruise. I overthrew him in the things he took pride in: his intelligence, his agility, his popularity. Without me he could not grasp order or stability, and he slithered into a shadowy mess of fragments. I grew to outshine Youngjae and he grew duller with every tick of the clock. _A has-been_ , they called him, as the castle of his dreams crumbled into debris with a snap of the finger. His walls collapsed and closed in on him, and the noose of funeral bells haunted his fallen dynasty.

Cornered he was into a dingy one-room apartment of a shabby interior, where he slept pitifully alone. He could not take cover for I was in charge of his military and I knew where his achilles heel laid. As we fought, for the first time, against one another, Youngjae was brought to ruins. I enlisted the help of pawns to tear Youngjae down through sinister rumours and their devastating impact on his reputation. I instructed my underlings to demolish his buildings, and I sometimes could not rip my gaze away from the blue black he begun to wear. I had to resort to this if I demanded a share of the landscape that was Yoo Youngjae.

Youngjae's capital was battered down and a dreadful shadow cast hopelessness over the empire that was once Yoo Youngjae. Apart, he was nothing, for he depended on me too much and his reliance paved the way to his downfall. He was composed of a plague of misery I cursed upon him, alongside the many cities I wrecked and vast expanse of grass I clawed out.

The downpour thrummed to the slow throb of his dying heart and I hung onto the seconds we met eyes in the hallways. Everything of Youngjae was in shambles and yet, I was still drawn to him. Amid the fickle tourists who laughed while his kingdom prospered and fleed when it perished, I continued to love him. I sought to carress the floods of his tears that annihalated everything in its path. I wanted to thumb away the dried crimson along his arms, remnants of a scarring bloodshed. He was still my magnificent king who I yearned wildly for, who I continued to dream endlessly of.

Eventually, Youngjae surrendered. He submitted a truce that decreed I would be given the same amount of authority, and his white flag was threaded with an apology for keeping me as a surbodinate all these years. We would rule the world together, side by side, hand in hand, as equals. Youngjae did not understand that I wanted to rule him and him only, but it did not matter for he was my world.

I was welcomed into Youngjae's country. I placed back the smithereens of him with utter tenderness and repaired his broken dams. I plastered his gushing gashes and taught his pretty, oh so pretty lips how to curl again. With his defenses down, his subservience cemented. I let my touches grow more ambiguous in nature. I rebuilt this empire as if it were on my own with meticulous attention and admired my handiwork of restoring a prized painting.

I was not afraid to cup Youngjae's cheeks whenever he smiled and wind my arm tightly around his waist. He spared me a few quizzical glances here and there but ultimately kept mum. In the past, he would have rebuked me for such affections.

Soft touches escalated into nuzzle of noses and Youngjae's short breaths as I lightly pinned him against the wall. I held his hand when he could not find his way around and brushed strands of his hair out of his eyes. The perplexed look in his eyes never dissapated but he spoke not a word. He allowed our hands to interlock and did not shun me when I brushed my lips against his neck.

That day, I promised him it would not hurt one bit. I mapped his contours with gentle fingers and traced down his sidewalks with my lips. I nipped at his shy territories that bred goosebumps and shudders, little quakes that doubled in magnitude as I descended. The smooth gradient ran down to his toes and his bones jutting out were the rise and fall of mounts. The ounce of tears he shed were the seaside that I promptly wiped away, so the shore would be all his for him to dig up sand like we used to.

Absolutely, absolutely beautiful. His jawline was my skyline and I soothed the tremors through his metacarpals. I tasted summer from his lips and shy spring southwards, where he writhed and bargained with me not to touch him any further. The intonations of his moans were the drafts of wind on long walks and I worshipped the blossoming vermillion on his cheeks.

Youngjae did not understand he was a beautiful stretch of land I conquered. It did not matter for I demanded to be let in and I quelled the earthquakes running through his lower lip. I stole his breaths and buried myself within him as he whimpered and moaned. I painted him inside out and marked him as mine, and only mine. His every tremble, the short gasp and squinting shut of his eyes, I claimed all of it as mine.

I came to rule the bedspread that was once our battlefield. A soldier cannot dream for his king; only when he conquers him shall he have the authority to rule. The Yoo Youngjae who stood at the top of the playground, the king I was so enamoured with since my younger days—finally, I have claimed you as mine.

 


End file.
